


Versatility

by Catzgirl



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Claiming Bites, M/M, Mild Blood, Rimming, but better to over tag than under, i'm literally not responsible for this, it's not really a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-07 03:03:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14071524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catzgirl/pseuds/Catzgirl
Summary: Fjord and Caleb get a rare moment alone.





	Versatility

**Author's Note:**

  * For [losebetter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/losebetter/gifts).



> I asked @LoseBetter if they had anything in particular they wanted to read after they say through my angst disaster widomauk fic, and they said that Bottom!Fjord would check a box for them, so there we have it!  
> I know some of yall don't check tags but this is!! Some p. explicit anal sex! Mentioned blood due to claiming bite.

It's not that they're ashamed of it. 

"Caleb," he rumbles, "Could you pass me that?" and dinner time with the Mighty Nein is always better at the Leaky Tap where the meat is fresh and clearly identifiable. Morale is high, drinks are flowing, and Caleb knows  _exactly_  what the fuck he's doing when he traces the blade of the knife Fjord's gesturing to. 

"This, you mean?" but Caleb sounds pretty damn sure of himself already, runs the tip of his finger down the blunted edge of the dinner knife, plucks it as he might choose a book off a shelf, hands it to Fjord with a smile that's casual as their hands brush in the transfer. 

"Much obliged," he says, partly because he wasn't raised in a goddamn barn, he's got manners, and partly because— 

Well. Caleb's an easy man to be polite to. 

"Of course," the wizard murmurs, and returns to picking at the plate next to his novel. Caleb knows how mad Fjord gets, watching him chase his food around rather than actually _eating_ it, knows that Fjord pays close attention to every bite. So when Caleb absentmindedly chooses a cherry tomato from his plate, rolls it between his fingers as his eyes dart across the lines of his page, when he pops it into his mouth without so much as a glance in Fjord's direction and gives a little shudder of delight at the taste? 

Yeah, he knows exactly what the fuck he's doing. 

"You always  _do_  that, Caleb," Jester says from further down the table, but she's giving Fjord her best crinkle-nosed suspicious stare, "You don't have to eat like a hobo  _all_ the time." 

Caleb's eyes do not wander as he turns his page. There's a truly inspiring shade of pink blooming high in the wizard's cheeks, but that could be because of what he's reading rather than Jester's interruption. "I am minding my own business," he says, lifting an arm so that Nott can steal a piece of something off his plate, reaches across and takes a corresponding piece from Fjord's before the half-orc can even open his mouth to offer, "Please fuck off and mind yours," and there's just the barest hint of pink as his tongue reaches out to get a taste of the marinade dripping from the meat he's taken, and Fjord's knife and fork are still poised to cut into the chunk that's currently in Caleb's hand, but he finds himself unable to actually move, to look away, as Caleb traces the curve of the meat and-

A foot kicks him, from under the table. 

He doesn't have to turn to Molly to know what sort of smirk will meet him, just averts his gaze from Caleb and onto what's left of his plate, because it's not that they're ashamed of it, it's just the Mighty Nein are  _a lot_  and what they have is still so new and Caleb is still so brittle around the edges that Fjord isn't sure both wouldn't shatter under scrutiny. 

At least his skinny human is eating. That's the important part. 

He tries to tune back into the flow of conversation, into the plans for the day. Yasha needs to go by the Sparkhammer, so that settles Beau as well. Molly seems to be entertaining the idea of taking Nott on a stealing-spree that Jester might join after she checks for jobs at the Crowns Guard hall. Caleb is reading his book and not paying attention, so Fjord says, "He'll probably needa go by the Invulnerable Vagrant. I'll make sure he gets there alright." 

Molly claps his shoulder, says, "Oh I'm sure he'll  _get there_  just fine," and turns back to Nott, who is ferociously gobbling every spare bit of food she can get her hands on and seems to be quite pleased overall. 

"Bit rude," Caleb mutters, and it might be to Molly because part of Caleb is always listening, or it honestly might be to his book. Either way, that's the end of that. 

There's a slow dispersal; first Molly and Nott, and as they go Caleb flutters his fingers and sends Frumpkin trailing after, more from habit than real concern that anything will happen to his little friend. Beau and Yasha go next, a surreptitious gap between them that has him shooting an encouraging little smile at his best friend, who rolls her eyes and pointedly _shoo's_ at him behind Yasha's back. Jester leaves only after she's rooted through her haversack and found her evil little smile-stick. It's not a  _good_  idea for him to let her leave with such a thing in hand, but she's a grown ass woman. If she gets in trouble, she's got the gold for bail. 

Caleb is engrossed enough in his book that he doesn't seem to notice that they're alone. He nibbles on a piece of bread, careful of the crumbs, and now it's clear that Caleb is actually reading some pulp fiction, two copper something that shouldn't see the light of day but his bottom lip is worried between his teeth and the tips of his ears are an impossible shade of  _red_  that Fjord would like to see mirrored on  _other_  bits of him. 

"Do I actually need to go to the Invulnerable Vagrant," and the sound of Caleb's voice startles him out of his thoughts, leaves him straightening in his seat and coughing into his fist for time to formulate a response, and how could he ever forget that Caleb knows _exactly_ what the fuck he's doing as blue-grey eyes cut to his and Caleb pops the last bit of crust into his mouth, "Or was that improvisation?" 

"It was," oh hell, what the fuck is wrong with him that Caleb  _eating_  has him straining against his trousers, "Well, whatever you want it to be, darlin'." 

Caleb doesn't need a bookmark, just presses the two halves of the book together, sure in the knowledge that he'll know exactly where to pick it back up. Fjord doesn't budge, just watches the way Caleb's long, lean fingers trace the cover of the book as if by habit, how they curl around the spine of it as he tucks it into one of many pockets. There's calluses on Caleb's fingers that aren't from books, there's ropes of shiny scar tissue from where his own fire has caught him, but it's the nails that end in neat little half moons that leave him captivated. 

Fjord drums his fingers against the tabletop, the clicking of his claws a familiar refrain, says as casually as he can, "Well," and Caleb is so much more clever than anyone knows, including Fjord, "Seems like we got the day off," and those eyes are the crests of waves, are sea breeze and salt, are the exact shade of a clouded dawn, "Got any ideas?" 

Caleb's lip quirk just for a moment. He's not the type of man that lends easily to smiles, so every twitch is a compliment, every almost-there makes Fjord's heart thud in his chest. There's calluses on Caleb's fingers that fascinate him, and the human's lips twitch again as he takes the hardened pad of his thumb into his mouth and bares the tiniest slip of his white teeth to nibble at it. 

Yeah. Caleb is fucking cleverer than anyone would guess, especially Fjord. 

"A few," with that tonelessness that means trouble, "Unless you have a suggestion?" 

Fjord stands abruptly. There's no one here that matters, and it's not that they're _ashamed_ of whatever this is, but it's still new enough that the thought of wasting any time down here is—well, it's kind of fucked up. Just poor time management is what it is. 

And if Caleb doesn't stop chewing on his thumb with those  _eyes,_ with that  _mouth,_  Fjord is gonna embarrass himself all over the fuckin' table. 

"Lead the way, sweetheart," because he wasn't raised in a goddamn barn, he's got manners thanks very much. 

Caleb stands much more smoothly, each footfall deliberate, eyes sweeping the room by habit. He's brittle around the edges still, not yet into the habit of existing without apologizing for it, and ain't that shit just heart breaking? It rankles at the possessive streak in him, at his orc-ish half, at what he'd refer to as his  _baser_  urges. The hardened black nails of his claws click against the chair back and he scoots it back into place—he was raised too well to leave anything in poorer shape than how he found it. His eyes track Caleb's every movement as the wizard starts directly to the stairs, grins because it's a good rule of thumb for dining tables and for people too. 

Caleb's room is the one they choose, because Molly has already been to smirk-y for his liking and there's no reason to go inviting trouble if he doesn't have to. He shuts the door behind him, watches Caleb shuck his coat off and fold it with care over his book holsters. Caleb is lean, even by human standards. Lean and long and lithe, stands with his back to Fjord as he sets his coat on the desk and reaches for the hem of his shirt. 

Fjord beats him to it. Orcs have thicker skin than humans, thicker skin that bears up well against the scrape of claws. Caleb isn't fragile by any means, isn't in any danger of breaking, but part of Fjord's brain is reserved for being careful with the pointed tips of his black nails. He's a sailor, he's detail-oriented, and especially every detail of the freckled expanse of Caleb's back as he bares it inch by careful inch. 

A kiss, to the top of Caleb's spine. He lets it smudge across his lips, imagines that the smattering of brown dots are just leftovers, just trails of where his mouth has been. Caleb lifts his arms and the shirt goes sailing to a distant corner of the room. When he lowers them it's to wrap around Fjord's neck as Fjord's hips press him against the desk. Chest-to-back, pelvis-to-ass and this is what he's missed more than the meals and the washrooms and even the beds while they were on the road. The simple intimacy of being together, and Caleb isn't fragile by any means but he's brittle enough by the edges that they take these moments in private. 

It's worth it. If only for the way that Caleb tugs him closer, bares his throat in offering. It's worth it. 

"Caleb," and he has to wet his lips, has to press a kiss to the freckled column of Caleb's throat, "I've got something of a, uh, proposition." 

Caleb angles his head so that he can kiss Fjord's cheek, only hums in response and grinds his ass ever-so-slightly against Fjord's groin and his cock in a bid for attention. 

Caleb Widogast knows  _exactly_  what the fuck he's doing. 

"Well, see, the thing is," and how is he supposed to think with that sort of distraction? "I've got, y'know," and he lets the back of his claws slide over the skin of Caleb's waist, feels every bit of the shiver follows, "And you know I love fuckin' you," because direct is usually best, direct is usually what turns Caleb that perfect shade of red that he likes, "But," but what he's trying to say is that orc skin is thicker that human, thick enough to stand up against the casual claw, but an ass hole is an ass hole no matter the species. 

Besides, he's spent a  _lot_  of time watching Caleb's hands, his fingers that are long and lean, the flourishes that accompany every spell, he's spent a  _lot_  of time obsessing over where Caleb got his callouses from, over the scared bits that speak to the reserved and reticent wizard's bolder side, to his strength. Molly and Jester like to call Caleb 'squishy,' but Fjord thinks that 'reckless' has been closer to the truth for more of Caleb's life than any of them know. 

"Hmm," Caleb says, turning in his embrace, and Fjord's belt is undone before he knows that Caleb's arms have wandered from his neck, "I would not be," and he's all deft and dexterity, he's got his own trousers puddling on the floor with Fjord's, "Opposed," and Caleb behind closed doors is  _different_ , Caleb behind closed doors is storm and shipwreck and  _shit_  but Fjord is gonna embarrass himself all over the goddamn floor, "To that. Not at all," and Fjord's brain shorts out because  _oh, okay_  they're really talking about this. 

"Um," he says, swallows as Caleb stares up at him beneath the fan of his lashes, "Uh," because it's hard to be fucking eloquent with a man's cock pressed against his, so get off his back alright? 

Caleb puts a hand on Fjord's chest, because Caleb is cleverer than anyone realizes and knows  _exactly_  what he's doing, and pushes Fjord until the backs of his knees hit the bed and he's forced to sit. "This will be a good deal easier if you lay down," and, hell, who is he to refuse? His head had hit the mattress before the words were all the way out, pulling a chuckle from the man above him. "Fjord," Caleb says, and then he's  _really_  above him, crawling up the length of Fjord's body because what he needs is  _another_  sight to tuck away for the nights on the road, "Hmm," Caleb says and drops a peck on Fjord's lips as he crawls past and turns, gets his knees on either side of Fjord's head, "I think this will be adequate. Unless you have—" and the rest is lost because Fjord is only half a man, only half an orc, and the sum total of him is totally unprepared to have Caleb's dick in his face without being in his mouth.   
So get off his fucking back, alright? 

There's things he wants that he can't ask for. There's things he feels that he doesn't know how to speak. He's so lucky, he's so fortunate that Caleb is cleverer than anyone gives him credit for. 

Hands run down his sides, over the bulk of his chest and stomach, and thank all the gods that Caleb is long enough, lean enough, that even with his dick in Fjord's face he still can nudge Fjord's bent knees to either side, still can move his balls to one side and set his mouth a good deal  _lower_  than Fjord expected. 

He  _doesn't_  choke because that would be unspeakably rude. His momma taught him to leave shit in better condition that he found it, no poorer for his use, and that's always been important to him. So he doesn't  _choke_  per say, but it's a very close call. 

"I suspect," Caleb says, and of course Fjord is  _clean_ , he's not a fucking heathen, he knew what they'd be getting up to today, but the thought still passes through his mind as Caleb licks a solid strip from taint to rim, "That this will not be sufficient replacement for lube," and Fjord's hands are scrabbling at the sheets beneath him as Caleb's tongue swirls around the pucker of muscle that is his actual, literal ass hole, "But it's worth a try," and that pink tongue that Fjord so admires is  _hot_  as it swirls into him, spears into him, sends him sailing off the edge of the world. 

A groan that doesn't belong to him slithers out of his chest. Caleb's hips lift, just enough, and he wants to feel bad that he's a writhing mess, that he's out of his head too much to blow his boyfriend,  _but,_ it's a lot harder to get someone between his legs than most expect. He's not arrogant, but he's honest and he's had his fair share of bedmates, but Caleb is eating his ass like there'll be gold at the end and honestly? If he keeps this up, Fjord will give him  _anything_. 

( _There's a_ _pres_ _ence_ _in the back of his mind that_ harumphs _that laughs at the thought._    
_So maybe only anything that Fjord has to offer of himself._ ) 

Caleb's hips shift so that his cock isn't just pressed against Fjord's face and Fjord—okay, he can do this, he has to do  _something_ , Caleb's  _tongue_  is in him, he  _has_ to do something other than writhe and wail. His hands ease from the bedsheets they're fisted in, caress in fits and starts up his favorite pair of too-skinny thighs, and he pulls Caleb's hips back into reach of his mouth. He's not arrogant, he knows his own limits, so he noses past Caleb's cock, plants his lips firmly on the pale expanse of inner thigh available and  _sucks_. 

They're by no means ashamed of what's between them, and Caleb is  _his_  regardless of who knows, but it rankles at what Fjord would refer to as his baser urges. He's only half man, he is a full fifty-percent orc, and though his mamma would pitch a fit about leaving things  _better_  than he found them, the bit of him that's orc-ish screams at him to leave _marks_  on what's his. Preferably the sort that scar, that stay, and every time that Caleb bares his throat to Fjord it sends all of his orc-ish blood straight to his cock. 

But Caleb's brittle around the edges. Fuck, Fjord can appreciate that, can be a little understanding. He'd never mark a man not one hundred-percent on board with it, regardless of what fifty-percent of him roars to do. 

"Can I," and who the fuck's voice is that, what kinda breathless, bated tone is that, "Darlin' I am working  _real_  hard at not markin' you right now," because he has to do  _some_ thing. 

At first he thinks that Caleb didn't hear him because he draws his mouth away from Fjord's entrance only to substitute one of those long, lean fingers. Afterwards he thinks that he'd been in the middle of a question, but who the fuck cares what it was? Caleb's  _finger_  is  _in him._  

 _"Oh fuck_ ," and it's warbled, wailed, he's writhing on the bed as that finger crooks and the callous of it catches, just barely caresses the bit inside of Fjord that sparks lightning behind his eyelids. "Oh  _fuck_ , Caleb, sweetheart," and he's gonna drop his accent if he's not careful, if he keeps talking, but he can't stop spewing at the mouth, " _Fuck_  I love you, oh goddamn Caleb, oh  _hell_  I am gonna die, you are gonna fuckin' kill me," because once Caleb seems sure that Fjord is ready he adds a  _second_  finger and that? That's a lot for a man, but orcs have claws that even their skin is hard pressed to bare. An ass hole is an ass hole no matter the species, and it's been a  _damn_  long time since he's had anyone between his thighs like this, and he's  _never_  had someone like Caleb. 

The wizard's voice is rough, Caleb is panting against him, his Zemnian is bleeding out, " _Fjord_ ," and gods has anyone ever said his name like that? "I am waiting on that mark, _mein_ _Süßer_ ," and holy fuck it's all he needs, it's all he's been waiting for, but how the fuck is he meant to concentrate? The words are barely out of Caleb's mouth when he ducks his head and set his tongue to work, the noises  _filthy,_ and Caleb is meant to have been a fucking scholar before his life of crime so where the fuck did he learn how to scissor his fingers and  _delve in_  with his tongue? Who the fuck taught him that because Fjord's not sure if he should thank them or fucking kill them—and that's a lie, his orc-ish bits are  _roaring_ , his so-called baser instincts are flaring, and more than fifty-percent of his blood is throbbing in his cock and baying for more. 

He does it as quickly as he can, doesn't trust himself not to botch it if he doesn't go deep and hard on the first try. He's a fucking sailor, he's detail-oriented and he's already memorized the details of Caleb too-thin legs, the corded muscles that do nothing to strengthen Caleb's scholarly background but do a hell of lot for the heat pooling in Fjord's core. It takes him less than a moment of consideration and then his teeth are sinking into the flesh of Caleb's inner thigh. 

The too-skinny, too-clever idiot human  _leans in_ to it, pulls his mouth out of Fjord long enough to make a noise that raises every hair on Fjord's body, curls his toes and tightens his hands to bruising on Caleb's hips. Orcs have thicker skin than humans but even orc skin doesn't hold up against orc teeth, and he's imagined this moment a lot of ways but the reality of it takes the goddamn cake as Caleb's blood smears into his mouth like iron and wine. 

" _Oh_ ," Caleb gasps, "Oh,  _Fjord_ ," and has anyone ever said his name like that? "Fjord,  _Scheiße_ _,_ I want," and his Zemnian is bleeding out, is dripping as much as the cock bobbing against Fjord's chest, "I  _need_  to fuck you,  _mein_ _Süßer_ ," and it occurs to him, distantly, as if through a fog, that he'll actually have to let go in order for Caleb to follow through on that, but damn if a snarl doesn't crawl out of his throat at the thought. "Please, Fjord," Caleb says, and his fingers crook  _just so_  and Fjord is only one half-orc and it's been a very long time since anyone has been between his thighs like this— _no one_  has ever been between his thighs like  _this_ , so get off his fucking back alright? 

As soon as his thigh is free Caleb is scrambling off him, has both feet on the floor and Fjord rises to his elbows just in time to see Caleb conjure lube onto his own cock before the image sends him falling back again. 

" _Fjord_ ," and Caleb is panting, hell, Fjord is doing more than pant, "Fjord I need you to tell me that this is okay," and ain't that just fucking heart breaking? Who's the last person that bothered to ask? 

( _A presence in the back of his mind laughs,_ harumphs _at the thought._    
_It's been a very long time indeed._ ) 

He is writhing on the bed, he is gonna embarrass himself all over his own belly in a minute, and it's more growl than words when he says, " _Fuck_  darlin',  _fuck me_ ," because he's learned that with Caleb? It's best to be direct. 

Caleb is one-hundred percent human, and he knows that for a goddamn fact thanks to the blood smudged over his lips, but Caleb's cock? Orcs have thicker skin than humans, orcs are generally thicker than humans in every way, but Caleb's cock? 

"Oh fuck, darlin'," and he's got both legs wrapped around Caleb's waist, pulling him in close so that the wizard is buried to the hilt and  _staying_  there and this? This isn't what makes  **them**  worth it, this isn't what keeps them sneaking around, and there's nothing about  **this**  that he's ashamed of because this is a fucking fever dream, this is a hallucination, this is something conjured by his patron. This is better than his life has ever been, better than it has any right to be. 

" _Mein_ _schatz_ ," Caleb says, and who the fuck talks like that? What's he gotta do to get some lessons in Zemnian? "Lift your leg, Fjord, give this to me please," and Caleb eases one of Fjord's legs up until his foot is hooked round Caleb's neck, gives an experimental thrust with the changed angle that has Fjord seeing white, that sends shockwaves through his core. Caleb is cleverer than anyone suspects, and who the fuck taught him how to angle his hips, the exact arc that drags the full girth of his cock across the bit inside of Fjord that has his own cock puddling all over himself? His claws are shredding the sheets under him, his claws are the reason that Fjord is not super well-acquainted with the bit in his ass that Caleb is  _targeting_ , and if he keeps it up then Fjord is gonna embarrass himself all over himself and he's gonna do it in a hurry.

"Very good, Fjord," Caleb says, Caleb  _groans_ , " _Very_ good, my love," and he'd flush with the praise if he were capable of processing it.

Caleb behind closed doors is  _different_  and he's known that from the beginning. Caleb is brittle around the edges and he doesn't have to know why to respect it, but Caleb isn't fragile by any stretch of the word. Caleb is storm and shipwreck and the sweet taste of surrender to something greater than himself. 

( _Silence from the presence in his mind on that._    
_It'd be worrying if he had enough of his mind intact to wonder about it.)_  

There's pressure at the back of his calf, and when the hell did he close his eyes? He lacks the strength to sit up, to rise even to his elbows as every one of Caleb's thrusts into his body imprints upon him that whatever he has to give to keep this is worth it, that whatever he has to do he absolutely _must,_ but he manages to turn his gaze to the leg thrown over Caleb's shoulder. There's that slip of a pink tongue, those are the lips he adores kissing, and Caleb is laving at every bit of green flesh available. The space between his knee and ankle is prime real estate as Fjord's entire body flexes and shudders at the sight, as Caleb kisses every inch of calf, one hand steady on Fjord's shin as the other braces his hip, and he would swear that the brush of Caleb's tongue keeps time with the drag of Caleb's cock over the bit inside him that makes him suspect that magic is involved, but that would require more brain power than he has available at the moment. Caleb's eyes are blue-grey like the crests of waves, like the clouds of a storm, like the light of dawn that's still lurking, and they're focused on Fjord as he nips at the skin in reach. Humans don't have teeth made for rending, for marking, but Caleb gives it the old college try as he nips, bites, sets his teeth to Fjord's leg hard enough that he can feel the bruise it will form. 

Not as permanent, he thinks, as what he's done to Caleb. 

Guess they'll have to find ways of keeping it fresh—it's just good manners. 

"Fjord," Caleb moans, "Is good,  _ja_?" and who the fuck has ever thought to ask him such a thing? When's the last time anyone looked at Fjord and saw someone that needed to be taken care of? Caleb leans his cheek against Fjord's leg, kisses and soothes the bit he's  _marked_ —as if Fjord needed another picture for those long nights out on the road—and lightly slaps one hand against Fjord's ass, says, "Fjord?  _Ja_?" 

Fjord cums all over himself. One minute he's incoherent, he's trying to find any word that's not his native one, trying to find a way to communicate that he might actually die if Caleb stops, but the  _spank_ —because that's exactly what the fuck it is—sends him careening into an orgasm faster than he can blink. 

He thinks he might roar with it. Something, he's distantly aware, makes the walls rattle. The noise he's focused on is the one that _Caleb_  makes, a little gasp of surprise and then a long and low  _keening_  and then there's just warmth and static. 

Has he mentioned? Caleb is cleverer than anyone ever suspects. Maybe especially Fjord. 

"Fjord my darling," and there's a wet rag at his entrance, and where did that come from, "Blink once for alive, twice for dead." 

Laughter as he blinks once, exaggerates the second, can feel how dopey and stupid his grin is to have delighted Caleb in any small way. Every quirk of Caleb's lips is a victory but laughter? 

"C'mere," he says, and the world is not yet back into focus, so he reaches an arm out blindly, leaves it hanging until his too-skinny human curls into it and onto his chest. 

They bask for a moment. Hell, if anyone's earned it, right? Then a thought occurs to him that needs to be addressed, probably as soon as it'd happened, and he mutters into Caleb's hair, "If you tell Molly—" and Caleb peals into laughter, "Tell him what? That  _you're_  the one with a spanking kink?" 

It's not that they're ashamed of it. And they'll tell the other's eventually, when Caleb's up for the teasing and attention that it'll bring. 

In the meantime? The laughter between them as they bask in the bed? That's what makes it worth it. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a mess and so am I.  
> I cannot understate how bad I am at proofreading my own stuff, so please for the love of all the gods if you catch anything funky spacing wise or just something Real Wrong, please feel free to mention it in the comments! Sometimes when I view my own fics on mobile the spacing is Real Weird, but maybe that's just because they belong to my account? Idk, but I'm getting really spooked out by it.  
> I love you guys and I hope you enjoyed the orc man getting dicked down.


End file.
